Witch Without A Name
by Shannah-theMusician
Summary: She's a witch; he's a demon. She thought they're perfect; he thinks otherwise. She loves him; he despises her. A witch finally meets Phantom, who is as deformed as her, and does whatever she can to make him fall in love with her. Phantom stays strong and loves Christine. But then, Christine left. The witch and Phantom, though they have each other, are cursed to be in solitude. E/OC


**Witch Without A Name  
**_**Chapter 1: The Witch**_

* * *

___"Have you heard?"_

___"About the Living Dead! The Devil's Child."_

___"Do you mean the child of the circus in town?"_

___"Yes! Exactly. They are stealing our money. Wretched devils."_

___"Is our witch not enough?"_

___"Who knows. These people will fall for anything."_

___When she heard of this from the ring masters, she smiled. There was a devil nearby. A devil who is like her. A devil that cannot be free. A devil bound to be mistreated by humanity for as long as he lives. Mixed feelings welled up in her._

___"Witch." An old woman's voice called. The 'witch' turns her head to her right, flipping her snow-white hair opposite to the direction of her turn. She faintly smiles at the woman who had her grey hair tied into a bun. The old woman wore a crimson red gown that seemed stolen and used by lots of people. She didn't wear a corset, so she wasn't very curvaceous. Her face screamed 60, when she's actually 40. Her black blank eyes weren't as it seems. It pierced the witch's heart._

___"Yes, mother?" she replies, not looking at her piercing stare._

___"Remove the worthless disguise of yours. How many times do I have to tell you to give up?" With that, the old woman starts stripping her of her disguise, starting with the brunette wig that beautifully matches her soon-to-be-ripped gown._

___Silence, mother. The witch thought. You do not challenge me._

* * *

Years have passed. The witch is still a witch. But a very beautiful one. Cosmetics have done wonders to her _beautiful _features. She travelled Europe in search for the "Devil's Child".

___Perhaps, if I and the Devil are the really same, he probably had run away__. _She thought as she gets down the carriage. For a few seconds, she looks at the town. The Opera Populaire is a bit far, but a walking distance from where she stood. ___And if I've not mistaken, and hopefully not, you are the Opera Ghost, Devil's Child._

The witch starts to walk towards the opera house to… _inquire_ of the show, and of the building. People didn't notice her figure pass by. She smiled at the fact. It has been a few years since she strolled down on any street. The unseen rays make her feel alive. The sound of people idly chatting, though odd, is music to her ears. It was a first that she did not hear any screams of fear and terror. No one mocked her existence. Her legs are not used to the exercise, especially with the 3-inch heels she wore.

Her mind wonders to the Devil's Child.

___Has he walked out under this sun? What does he look like? Is he here?_

Truth to be told, even the witch does not know why she is very intrigued by the Devil. Ever since her ear caught word of his existence, she sought for him. When she found out that the circus the Devil belonged in left a tad earlier, she disheartened herself, but did not give up. Not once did she waver from her two objectives. First is to get free. Second is to meet the Devil.

As she walks down the streets, she looks at the establishments presented to her. A lot of people were there, enjoying their time being wasted. She scowled at them, even though she enjoys how they ignore her presence. Her mind was full of thought about the opera house. The plans on getting inside outside show hours and during show hours were in her head, slowly unfolding itself.

"Excuse me!" a man shouted. The witch heard sounds of horse galloping, and when she turns around, it's too late. Fortunate that she was not ran over, but she was hit by the horsee. The witch falls on her behind, and her cream bag slips from her gloved hands. On her landing, she hears a loud ripping sound. In an instant, her almost pale face grew red. Her beige gown has been ripped! The man who has controlled the carriage hurriedly gets down and approaches the woman now sitting on the dark pavement. The witch lifts her gloved hand at touches her face.

"Tch." She mutters. She fixes her hair, so that it covers half her face.

"Miss!" the man called. "Are you all right?"

In an instant, she looks as if very hurt. She hoped to get a few francs out of the man. Without further ado, she grips her arm, attempting to look hurt. The man gently touches her shoulder, kneeling on one knee next to the witch.

"Miss."

With shaking hands, she points at the cream coloured shoulder bag. She then looks at the man with sad eyes. The man became shocked at her stare. Not that it was bad, but for her eyes were frightening... Her eyes were red. It has a hue of bright red. He hesitated, but nodded and got the bag.

"Vicomte, is everything alright down there?" a man from the carriage asked.

"Ah, just a moment."

The witch stared at his beautiful face. His blonde hair that's a bit too long for a guy, which reached his shoulders. He has sharp, yet gentle features on his face, and his blue eyes; the exact opposite of her eyes. The man stands next to the witch, holding out a hand.

"Can you stand?"

"Y-yes… But, I'm in a predicament." She replied. Her voice was soft, unlike her harsh eyes. When she spoke, she looks at her gloved hand that was trying to grip the pavement.

"What is it..?" That sentence alone made the witch's face red as a tomato.

"My gown… I'm afraid it has been… torn."

"Oh my. Let me be of help. I am off to the Opera Populaire. Perhaps someone can lend you something to wear."

She let go of the idea of francs and takes advantage of the moment. Yes! She will no longer walk down the streets wearing her wretched heels. The fashion she lived by was simple and comfortable, unlike the fashion of the English citizens.

How she despised the complexity of their attire. There is no point to wear heavy and puffy gowns, long undergarments, and high heels for a witch. She's like a child in poverty. Happiness was with her when she wears flat shoes, a nightgown, and no corsets.

"Y-yes please…"

"May I know your name?"

She froze. No one has___ever _asked her name. She makes up a name on the spot.

"Magissa. Yes, I am Magissa… Ackerman."

___Magissa. Yes. I don't need a name. Magissa is just what Greeks would call me. _She thought, sadly.

"You are foreign, I guess?"

"Yes."

"Well, let us get going, Ms. Ackerman. I am Vicomte de Chagny. But do call me Raoul."

"A pleasure."

Her plans have taken an odd twist, but it is good.

* * *

She sat down in a dressing room, and watches the old woman named 'Madame Giry' choose a clothing for her. Her seat was soft and comfortable. It was black, like almost every furniture that is in the dressing room. There's a mirror, small couch, closet, and a table. It was a plain dressing room, not that spacious as well. She took notice of the details of the room.

Magissa quivered when she first saw her. She remembered her mother. The cruel witch's mother. It made her think that being a _witch _is hereditary. An inborn sickness that can never be cured.

Without noticing, Giry touched her bangs, removing them from her spaced-out expression. She abruptly stands and pushes her away when the warm gloves of the older woman brushes on her skin. Giry took a few stops backward, hitting the brown walls.

_"____Curse you!_

___You worthless human, how dare you?_

___You wicked woman._

___Now the witch will put a curse upon you.__"_

She sang, looking away from Giry, slamming her hands on the wall. Giry's head between Magissa's hands. Giry showed shock and fear.

_"____Curse you!_

___You little unscrupulous being!_

___Touching the witch?_

___Now you are damned by the devil.__"_

As Magissa sang, she looks at Giry. Her gloved hand pushes her brown bangs away, revealing her... _beauty. _The other eye was as red as the other. Brighter than blood, and cold as ice. Blue-violet veins were marked on the right side of her skin. It throbbed as she sang. The odd thing that Giry just noticed is, the irises are too big for her eyes. Her eyes look dead, and blank. And the right side of her face is unusually blue, as if dead.

Giry remembered___him _the moment she was pushed. Even though not all, she saw what the witch hid.

The last sentence made Giry smile a bit.

"Forgive me, my dear. I will let you fix yourself." Giry said, turning away and walking off. Magissa hissed like a snake as Giry made her exit. Indeed, she acted like a witch. It's a fact she cannot ever deny. No matter how hard she tries, the fact that she grew up as a witch, she can not be who she is without face-powders and foundation. She can easily look normal, but can never be _human_. With people being very curious and poking her, she can not be normal.

She explores the room for makeup, brushes, everything to make her beautiful. And she finds them. First, she fits the black gown Giry lends her. It fits Magissa finely. It was a simple gown. Long sleeves that felt one with her pale skin, long dress that reaches the floor, and grey sequences forming a spiral halfway through the dress below her right knee. She didn't remove her light-brown heels and white gloves. Magissa opens a brown 12-inch box and smiles wickedly.

_Time for the witch to do her magic._

...

Three continuous knocks have been heard in the dressing room. Magissa was about to be finished beautifying herself.

"Ms. Ackerman, may I come in?" a woman asks.

"Of course. The door is unlocked." she replies, applying black mascara on her eyelashes. A woman wearing a french-maid outfit enters, carrying a wooden bucket full of water and a rag.

"You look stunning, Ms. Ackerman!"the woman comments, looking at the reflection of the witch. The witch smirks and looks at the woman. She smiles crookedly at her, as she closes the makeup kit.

"Thank you." Magissa replies, approaching the woman. "Do tell, where is Madame Giry? I have a favor to ask of her."

"She is with the managers in the backstage when I last saw her, Ms. Ackerman. May I know, what is your business with her?"

"It's a secret, maid." she replies coldly. Magissa hurriedly opens the door and leave the maid to do her work. When she exits the dressing room, she sees ballerinas scurrying away in their white dresses. Magissa decides to follow them.

The smile on Giry's face was etched in her mind. It made her fume with anger. She felt like Giry was mocking her. Though she threatened her, it was not enough. The witch needs to finish of those who mock her _beauty_. As she walks down the hall, and to the backstage, she meets Giry who is watching her little dancers hurry. Giry stood by the stage with pride and confidence. Her hands were on the cane that stood firmly on the marble-like ground. Slowly, she approaches the elder.

"Madame Giry." she called, sweetly. "May I have a word?"

"What is it, Ms. Ackerman?" Giry replies, not looking away from the girls' practice.

"I have a question, and maybe even a favor."

"What is your question?"

"Did you feel fear? I am a witch, as I have mentioned. Do you think I am crazy? I just claimed to be a witch. Or do you mock me, for I am___beautiful__._"

"I simply smiled because you remind me of a certain person." she replied before walking away.

"Wait!"

___Insolent wench! __She curses. _With a sigh, she storms away. She exits the opera house and strolls down. She dislikes how Giry was rude to her. Giry's gaze that was cold and all-knowing made her feel small and weak. No. She has done too much to be ruled by that _Giry_. Magissa's brows furrowed, and her fists clenched, as she looks at Giry's figure walk off.

The witch walks off, making sure her heels click loudly on the marble-like floor. She kept her angered expression as she walks away. As usual, she mindlessly walks to wherever her feet bring her. Her mind is blank, but something inside her would bring her where she needs to be. Magissa claims that it's witchcraft, and can not be explained further.

Magissa finds herself behind the Opera Populaire. Suddenly, she notices a small window, just by her feet. Her eyes grew big, and her smile grew like the Cheshire Cat's. _That_ night was still clear to her. The moment she could have met the Devil's Child. It was years ago, but the scene is still so detailed in her mind.

...

___There were lit torches and people running around in circles. The witch took advantage of the chaos to escape her dressing room of a prison. Using her 'witchcraft' she is able to free herself without difficulties. Though late, the full moon gave her enough light to make her way to the streets. Without noticing, she gets a glimpse of two children running away. _

___Secretly, she follows. _

___Silently, she runs. _

___Swiftly, she turns._

___Slyly, she looks at them._

___Slowly, she watches him escape._

___Sadly, she is caught._

___When she caught a glimpse of him; when she watched him; when she admired his existence, she found a reason to get free. Though she was heartlessly dragged back to her home circus like a sack, she felt mesmerized and alive. Very alive. Blood was rushing in her veins; her irises were shaking in excitement, she grins like a Cheshire Cat. Without notice, she laughed loudly. Laughed like a crazy witch that she is._

_"__Stop laughing, you witch." her mother ordered. She didn't stop. The ecstasy, euphoria, glee, happiness of the moment is overwhelming. Too overwhelming that she has become crazy. _

___Then she realized, that the beginning is yet to come. Time is an essence for the beginning to come._

___..._

Just like years ago, she creeps up to the window by the dark pavement. She mentally thanked Giry for picking a normal dress for her. If not, she cannot fit in the small window at the bottom of the opera house.

Silently, she opens the window.

Her bright red eyes scan the room, and she sees a girl lighting a candle. A curly-haired brunette who wore a white gown. Her expressions, though it seems mysterious, seems longing. Magissa looks at the face of the brunette, and takes a photograph of it in her mind.

Swiftly, she moves away.

Even though she's beautiful under her caked-mask, she fears being seen. It is not time to meet others yet. It is not time to reveal herself yet. It is not time to move yet.

Secretly, she listens.

A rich tenor voice softly and gently echoes in the small room. Once again, she scans the room to look for the male singer. Magissa was never interested in high female voices. It irritates her to the core. It shatters her ear drums. She hates it.

_"__Brava, brava, bravissima."_

It wasn't long before a high female voice follows the tenor voice. Immediately, the witch covers both her ears with her hands and hisses like a snake.

_"__Christine, Christine._

___Where in the world have you been hiding?  
Really, you were perfect.  
I only wish I knew your secret.  
Who is your great tutor?"_

_"__Father once spoke of an Angel  
I used to dream he'd appear.  
Now as I sing I can sense him  
And I know he's here._

___Here in this room, he calls me softly  
Somewhere inside, hiding  
Somehow I know he's always with me  
He, the unseen genius."_

How can people stand this kind of voice? She asks in her mind. Slowly, the voices disappear. Not batting a fake eyelash, she sneaks in through the window. Her very thin figure snakes it way inside without breaking a sweat. Her eyes look at the floral designed metal for the air ventilation. She follows its path, and she takes note of where it leads. She climbs up a small flight of stairs that lead to the stage. Once again, she sees Madame Giry. In an instant, she fumes with annoyance. As a normal person, she plays nice.

"Oh, Madame Giry!" she calls sweetly, waving at her.

"Now who's that beauty?" the tall man asks.

"A person who happens to be in need. Excuse me, gentlemen. It seems I have to attend to her." she replies, adding a bow at the last sentence. Giry, with confidence, trots to Magissa.

"Is anything the matter, Magissa?" she asks, stopping at exactly a feet away from the witch. With a cold glare, she looks at the witch's red eyes. Magissa smiles nervously.

"I am wondering... Perhaps I can join your opera? I am not much of a singer, but rather, I am a ballet dancer." she says, not removing her blank gaze on the cold ones of Giry.

"Hn. Prove to me that you are worth it. Then the answers shall present upon itself."

"You do know I am working for money. Or at least, somewhere to live and food to eat. Those words will leave me pondering on my work. How can answers present itself, Madame?"

"Just practice in the dressing room, dear. I will tell you when you've done great."

"Your answers, shall I say, are vague."

"I am but the eyes of a person who is the true, let me say, maestro of this opera."

"Answer me. Who is this 'maestro of the opera'?"

"He is... a person who will only show himself to people worthy of him."

The witch's eyes, if it was possible, burned Giry's eyes. Giry felt how much a witch Magissa is, and in return, Giry does not remove her cold and intimidating gaze.

"You will curse the day, you did not tell

All that the witch have asked of you."

Everyone in the opera heard the witch sang. Even the Devil's Child who is about to make his exit. Her voice scratched his ears. Indeed, she does sound like a witch. Her voice, as she sang, was hoarse and definitely, inexperienced. But the emotions and anger delivered by the witch, made the Devil's Child stop and look back. He felt that there's much more pain, anger, and demise that she needs to free.

Swiftly, the Devil runs

He finds himself on the wooden floor that hangs above the stage. His eyes scan the unclouded stage, and in the corner of his eye are them. Madame Giry and Magissa near the left corner, in front of the unclosed velvet curtains.

Secretly, he looks.

With his perfect vision, she looks at the features of the witch.___Ah, another worthless fool. _The Devil thought. ___You are almost worthy. Yet, your beauty is not of my Angel of_ Music. What he did not understand is; she called herself a witch despite the beauty.

_Perhaps it is her eyes that make her claim herself as a witch. _The Devil Thought as he stares at her red orbs.

* * *

___A/N: Hello. I hope you like this fanfic. Though in 3____rd____ point of view, it is , in a way, in Magissa's point-of-view. Leave a review. Comment or criticisms. This is my first story after a long, long writer's block. I still think I'm not completely over it. Well, I hope this goes well. I am satisfied with this chapter, but there's something I dislike. orz._

___Thank you for reading until the Author's Note!_


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